


Such A Sweet Epiphany

by dance_dance_miserable



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Curses, Evil Stepmothers, Fairy Tale Retellings, M/M, Magic, Magical Realism, Prince!Pete, Strangers to Lovers, Talking Bears, based on East of the Sun and West of the Moon, yes i made the obligatory bear joke twice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 09:26:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18657625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dance_dance_miserable/pseuds/dance_dance_miserable
Summary: If Patrick had learned anything in his eighteen years on this planet, it was that no amount of shooting stars and birthday candles would grant those simple wishes.He’d never really considered that maybe a bear could.





	Such A Sweet Epiphany

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! This challenge was the most fun I've had in a long time, and it finally gave me the opportunity to share my favorite clusterfuck of a fairy tale with everyone: East of the Sun and West of the Moon. It's like Cinderella, Beauty and the Beast, and Cupid and Psyche got together and had a weird freaky baby, but I promise it's a lot of fun! Of course, I've taken a few creative liberties, but the base of the story is still there.
> 
> Thanks to das-verlorene-kind, thatblueberryboy, and my lovely s/o lucca-woah on Tumblr for being my beta readers. Enjoy!

Life was no fairy tale. Patrick Stumph had no doubt in his mind about that. 

Fairy tale princes didn’t live in the slums of Chicago– no, not even the slums of Chicago, but the slums of a suburb _outside_ of Chicago. Their mothers didn’t die in tragic car crashes when they were only six because cars didn’t exist in fantasy kingdoms. Sure, someone in said kingdom might meet a tragic end falling from their horse, but that never happened to royalty. Only the peasants died in such gruesome ways. 

Their fathers weren’t high school dropouts and didn’t struggle to feed them and two siblings off of minimum wage and pitiful tips earned playing guitar on the street. Hell, they probably didn’t even have siblings; much less siblings that were constantly on their asses about ‘finding a job, Patrick’ or ‘finishing school, Patrick’. 

Princes didn’t need to work jobs or go to school. They had everything they could ever want handed to them on a silver platter. 

Patrick didn’t think he had ever even seen a silver platter. 

Now, twelve years after his mother’s death, Patrick still hadn’t given up hope that things would get better. He would never be the perfect Prince Charming his mother used to read him stories about, or indulge in the fantasy of falling in love with a beautiful princess– prince, in Patrick’s case– and living the cliche of happily ever after. He’d shed that dream like old snakeskin years ago. 

His wildest fantasies had become much more mundane: a decent house, a good job for his dad, three square meals a day, and maybe more doting siblings while he was at it. He didn’t think that was too much to ask for.

Apparently it was. If Patrick had learned anything in his eighteen years on this planet, it was that no amount of shooting stars and birthday candles would grant those simple wishes. 

He’d never really considered that maybe a bear could.

If he had considered it, maybe he would’ve realized just how ridiculous it seemed that a simple wild animal could ‘Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo’ his life from rags to riches. Maybe he would’ve thought that a bear bringing his family everything they could ever want was even more unrealistic than wishing on a star.

And maybe, on a stormy Thursday night in September, he would’ve been proven wrong.

Thursdays were Patrick’s least favorite days because Thursdays were the days when his father would throw everything in the kitchen together into a pot, call it ‘stew’, and force Patrick and his siblings to eat at the table with him and play pretend like they were a perfect, middle-class family.

Patrick didn’t dislike this because it reminded him that they weren’t the perfect 1950s suburbia nuclear family– all it took was one glance around their shitty old house to do that– but because it gave his older brother and sister, Kevin and Megan, an excuse to butt their noses into Patrick’s personal life.

“So, Patrick, how did that job interview go?”

Patrick scowled into his stew. “Why don’t you mind your own fucking business, Megan?” She didn’t need to know that he’d been turned away at the door. She didn’t need to know that the manager at Bloomingdale’s had sneered at the shabby dress clothes he’d borrowed from Kevin and told him, _‘You’re just not the kind of person we want representing our brand.’_ She didn’t need to know how much of a failure he was. 

“Patrick, watch your language! Is that any way to speak to your sister?” his dad scolded, brow furrowing. 

Patrick– struggling to bite back a snarky rebuttal– took a slow sip of his stew. He tried not to let his expression betray his aversion to the taste, as well as their family dinners in general.

“Yeah, Rick, what’s got your panties in a bunch?” Kevin chimed in with a smirk, apparently taking pleasure in Patrick’s suffering. “Did the mean old store lady call you ugly and send you home?” 

Fuck. How could he have known that?

“Kevin!” Patrick was glad at least that his dad had the decency to chastise his other two kids instead of focusing all his fatherly disappointment on the runt of the litter. “I’m sure that’s not what happened at all. It went well, right, Rickster?”

Patrick sighed heavily. Why did his dad have to have so much faith in him? 

“No, actually. Kevin’s right. That’s exactly what happened,” he whispered, as if he hoped that speaking softly would somehow lessen the blow.

The table went silent. Even Kevin had stopped laughing. The heavy rain outside continued to batter the roof, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the blood pounding in Patrick’s ears. He could practically feel his family’s disappointment thick in the air, flooding his lungs and smothering any words he could say to diffuse the situation. 

Patrick’s father set his spoon down and buried his face in his hands before breaking the suffocating silence. “...so you didn’t get the job?” 

“I-I, uh… no, I didn’t, but–”

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Everyone’s gaze snapped towards the kitchen window.

“Is that… hail?” Megan turned in her chair to face the window with her whole body, straining to get a better look outside.

Kevin shook his head. “It’s not cold enough for that yet.”

“It sounded like some _body_ ,” Patrick said. Three taps in that specific a rhythm couldn’t have been accidental.

“A robber?” Kevin scoffed. “Please, we don’t have anything worth stealing.”

“I’ll go check it out. Just to be safe.” Patrick’s dad slowly rose from the table, grabbing the baseball bat he kept under the couch just for situations like this. Patrick, Megan, and Kevin all watched with bated breath as their father opened the front door, gripping the bat until his knuckles were white. 

Underneath the window, curled in on itself like a scared stray puppy, was a polar bear.

A human’s primal instinct when faced with razor-sharp teeth and claws is either fight or flight; in that instant, David Stumph chose fight, swinging his bat at the bear with the strength of a father gorilla defending his three infants from a predator. 

“Wait!”

David froze, his bat mere inches from crushing the bear’s skull in. As he stared at the animal, he realized how peculiar– no, how _impossible_ – it was for a polar bear to be here outside his house in Illinois, thousands of miles from its natural habitat and at least a day’s walk from the zoo. There was an eerily human-like intelligence behind the bear’s eyes, and it flinched away from his bat with a similarly human-like terror, as if it knew that the impending collision would bring death and that death was something to be feared.

If David’s judgement served him right, the bear was also capable of human-like speech. He was alone outside, with his kids still at the dining table and his closest neighbors living about ten minutes down the gravel road out front. 

He slowly lowered his bat. “I’m sorry, did you just–”

“I’ve come to propose a deal,” the bear interrupted, taking a step back and eyeing David as it did so. “I have seen your struggle, Mister Stumph. Your family is suffering. I want to help.”

“Help?” David seemed incredulous. “How could you possibly help us? You’re a bear!” At a harsh glare from the creature, he stuttered out an “Uh… no offense?” He knew better than to purposefully piss off an animal that could easily maul him to death.

“I can make your family as rich as you are poor,” the bear replied coolly, using its nose to nudge a gold coin out of the grass and to David’s feet.

David knelt to pick it up, one hand still clutching his bat. “Incredible!” He brought the coin closer to his face, examining it closely. Based on his limited knowledge of precious metals, it seemed to be the real deal. 

“But I request something in return.”

“Of course! Anything. Name your price.”

“Your youngest child.”

David froze, the coin falling from his fingertips into the dirt. “You want… you want Patrick?”

“Indeed,” the bear agreed, “I’ve grown quite lonely all by myself, and he seems to be fine company.”

“I’m not sure how he’d feel about me selling him to a… _stranger_ without his consent,” David replied. “Let me go talk to him.”

The bear gave a nod and curled back up under the window, gently placing a paw over the discarded coin as David made his way back inside.

Megan gasped when he opened the door. “Dad! We totally thought you were dead!”

“What happened?”

“It was a robber, wasn’t it?” Patrick insisted. “I knew it!”

“It was a, um…. a polar bear.”

Patrick’s brows knit in confusion. “This far south?” 

“Holy shit!” Kevin cried. “Did you kill it?”

Their father sighed, dropping his bat onto the floor. It was clean of any blood, which Patrick and his siblings took to mean ‘No.’

Megan was shaking as she eyed the still-open front door. “But you scared it off. Right?”

David shook his head. “No, it’s still outside.”

Patrick’s eyes widened. “What?! Dad, why didn’t you–”

“It spoke to me. In a human voice,” he replied, to the disbelief of his children. “It offered to make us rich in exchange for someone to keep him company.” He turned to face Patrick, his eyes swimming with grief and uncertainty. It made Patrick shudder, as if he could feel his world about to come apart at the seams.

“It wants you, Patrick.”

Patrick’s stomach dropped. “Me? But why?”

“It says it’s lonely,” David picked at his fingers– a nervous tic that Patrick had inherited– as he continued. “Patrick, think about it. This could be a wonderful opportunity for us. All the money we could ever need!” He looked wistfully off into the distance, and Patrick guessed he was imagining what he would do with all of the riches the bear had promised.

Patrick, personally, he would’ve first used the money to fulfill all the little wishes he’d never had granted. Then maybe he would buy himself a drum set, or the nice electric guitar in the Guitar Center window that he admired each day on his way home from school. If he had enough money left over at the end, _maybe_ he would do something nice for his siblings, like replace the strings on Kevin’s old violin, or buy Megan the new cocktail dress she’d been lusting after for months. None of that seemed worth spending the rest of his life keeping a magical talking polar bear company.

“Dad, I–”

“I told it that I would discuss the deal with you first though. I would never send you off with a talking bear without an ‘okay’ from you,” he assured Patrick, moving forward to rest his hands on Patrick’s shoulders. “So, what do you think?”

Patrick sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, almost hard enough to draw blood. “I’m sorry, but no.”

His father wilted, but tried to play it off with an unconvincing smile. “Okay, that’s fine. This is all so sudden, I understand. Why don’t I ask it to come back next week so you can think it over?”

“Dad, I really don’t think I’m going to change my mind.”

“You never know, son,” David replied with a forced laugh. 

Patrick turned to watch his father make his way back outside to tell the bear the news. He could feel his siblings’ glares harsh on his back like knives. Was this how Caesar felt just before Brutus did him in? Et tu, Megan? Kevin?

Trying to pretend his siblings weren’t plotting the fall of his empire– and by empire, Patrick meant dignity– he stared out the window and caught a glimpse of a hulking mass of white fur padding back into the forest, its head hung low. Patrick almost felt bad for disappointing it. 

Almost, but not enough for him to change his mind.

When the bear had completely vanished into the forest, David came trudging back inside, placing the gold coin the bear had given him on the kitchen counter. He didn’t even stop to speak to his children as he stormed off to his bedroom. Patrick flinched when he heard the door slam shut.

“Nice going, Rick,” Kevin grumbled.

“Yeah. So much for having a decent meal in our near future.”

Patrick held his breath as he listened to his siblings’ footsteps echo out of the kitchen, growing quieter and quieter as they made their way down the hall. Two more door slams followed, and Patrick exhaled sharply, a pang of guilt shooting through his chest. 

It seemed that his entire family wanted the bear’s gold over their own flesh and blood, but that couldn’t be the case. Could it?

Over the next week, Patrick discovered that it could be– and definitely was– the case. He could scarcely breathe without his brother, sister, or father making an offhanded remark about ‘oh, if only we were rich’.

“If only we were rich, Patrick, then maybe I could actually go places with my friends,” Megan scoffed on Saturday, when her little clique had gone to see a movie without her, knowing she couldn’t afford to pay for her own ticket.

“If only we were rich, Patrick, then maybe we could afford to go out to eat,” Kevin grumbled on Monday, picking at the slimy canned vegetables on his plate. 

“If only we were rich, Patrick, then maybe we could buy our own recording studio,” his father mused on Wednesday, strumming out a chord on his old guitar. He was working to tune it for his set on the city street that night. “Think about it, kiddo. A father-son music duo! We could take Billboard by storm.”

Patrick sighed, looking up from where he was going his homework at the table. “Dad, is this about the bear again? Because I haven’t changed my mind. It probably just wants to eat me or something. Hibernation season is soon and hunting is a lot of work.”

“Ricky, don’t be ridiculous! It seemed like a perfectly pleasant… creature.”

“Dad, it was a bear. A _literal_ bear.”

“But didn’t you say you were into bears? Because–”

Patrick’s cheeks and ears turned a bright tomato red. “Dad! Oh my God, please shut up.”

“But–”

“No means no, okay? I’m not living in the woods with a fucking bear, this isn’t Beauty and the Beast,” he growled. He spun to face his dad, nearly toppling his chair over in the process. “I’ll find a job. Hell, I’ll drop out and find two jobs if it’ll get you, Kevin, and Megan off my ass, but I will not sell myself to a goddamn animal!”

The hope drained so quickly from his father’s face that Patrick instantly felt guilty for putting his own life and happiness before his family’s. He felt selfish, but surely there was some other way for them to get rich that didn’t involve shipping Patrick off with a wild animal, right? They could win the lottery, or maybe his dad would get picked up by a big record label tonight.

Ironically, neither of those seemed as likely as the absurdly wealthy talking bear. 

“Patrick, just– please?” The desperation in his father’s voice made Patrick wince as if he’d been slapped. Why couldn’t he have been born with a heart of stone? “This isn’t just for us, this is for _you_ , Ricky. Think of everything you could buy for yourself, like… that guitar you’ve had your eye on for instance.”

That had been Patrick’s plan. His dad always knew exactly what he wanted to hear.

Heaving a sigh, Patrick finally gave in. His family seemed convinced that nothing but good would come from this exchange. Maybe they were right; Patrick supposed it was possible that living with the bear would be the best experience of his life. “You know what? Fine. I’ll do it.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You win. I’ll go with the bear.”

His dad let out a cheer, springing up from his place on the couch. “Megan, Kevin, wonderful news!” he cried. He ran to tell them that their brother had just traded his life away for all the gold they could ever want, leaving Patrick alone to complete the AP Bio assignment that he would never turn in.

The next morning, Patrick’s family was insistent that he clean himself up. They wanted him looking his best when the bear arrived to retrieve him that evening. Why, Patrick was unsure. He guessed that they thought the nicer he looked, the more gold they would receive. By this point, Patrick was too afraid to question it. If these were the last moments he would ever spend with his family, he’d hate to ruin them by going against their wishes.

He had barely stepped out of the shower– having washed his hair with Megan’s strawberry shampoo as requested– when his dad came barging in, snatching Patrick’s towel and using it to dry Patrick’s hair. That was followed by him attacking Patrick’s scalp with a plastic comb, pulling until his son’s hair was tangle-free.

Once he’d dried the rest of his body, Patrick was stuffed into the same clothes he’d worn for his interview at Bloomingdale’s: a button-up, slacks, and a pair of dress shoes. The outfit didn’t fit any better than it had then, but it would have to do. Patrick grabbed his favorite cabbie hat out of his closet to complete the look before Kevin ushered him into Megan’s room, where he was treated to a bit of her dollar-store lip gloss. 

“Well, it’s far from perfect,” Megan mused, turning Patrick to face the mirror and fluffing out his hair, “but animals don’t have much of a fashion sense, so it should work just fine.”

Patrick frowned at his reflection. He thought all the fuss was a bit ridiculous. Was this how people prepared for their weddings? How morticians prepared a corpse for its funeral?

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

“It’s here!” David gasped, ushering Patrick towards to front door. “Have you packed your things?”

Patrick nodded, grabbing his backpack from beside the dining table and slinging it onto his back. He didn’t have many things to pack, but he’d emptied the textbooks and papers out of the bag the night before and filled it instead with extra clothes, toiletries, and a few cheap snacks from the pantry.

“Are you ready, kiddo?” 

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Patrick shut his eyes and took a deep breath. He felt as though he was about to jump from the high dive into the deep end; in this case, the diving board was his front door and the water was the bear waiting for him as he opened it.

“Greetings, Patrick. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person.” Its voice rumbled like heavy rain, sending pleasant tingles down Patrick’s spine, and if Patrick didn’t know better, he might’ve thought the bear was smiling.

“Uh… you too?” He wasn’t quite sure how he was meant to respond, but if his mother had taught him one thing before she passed, it was that good manners never went to waste.

There was no denying the bear’s grin this time. “Bid your family farewell and we’ll be on our way.”

Patrick turned to embrace each of his family members in turn, his dad holding him closest and whispering soft statements of gratitude in his ear. “Thank you, Patrick. For everything.”

Patrick just nodded in response, afraid that if he tried to speak around the lump in his throat, he would start crying and never stop. He finally pulled away from his father when the bear nudged the back of Patrick’s thigh with its nose.

“Come. It’s time we be on our way.” The bear turned its back to Patrick and gave a little nod.

Hesitantly, Patrick climbed onto the bear’s back, fisting his hands tightly in its thick fur. It was softer than he’d imagined it to be, less dirty and matted too; it felt as though the bear kept it well-groomed as humans did their hair.

“That’s right,” the bear praised, carefully compassionate. “Grip as tight as you need. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” 

Patrick found himself strangely calm as they began their trek, giving his family a final glance over his shoulder. His heartbeat was steady, and his breathing was perfectly rhythmic. He dug through his mind for any sign of stress or anxiety and came back empty-handed.

“I’m not afraid.” 

And as he rode farther from home, no such feelings developed. The prospect of abandoning his home, his family, and any sense of familiarity did not invoke fear in Patrick, nor much of anything else. He was too busy admiring the scenery.

It had been years since Patrick had thought to just stop and smell the roses– figuratively or otherwise. After his mother passed, his life had faded into an endless droning cycle: wake up, cry in the shower, go to school, eat lunch alone, finish homework, look for jobs, get turned down, sleep, repeat. No sunlight ever broke through the dark clouds. Nothing ever inspired Patrick to look for the beauty in life rather than dwelling on the misery of his daily grind.

But as the bear carried him deeper into the forest, Patrick finally realized what all he had been missing. Memories of rich illustrations and tales of nature fairies came flooding back to him all at once, so overwhelming that all he could do was gasp. Spots of sunlight danced on the forest floor like pixies at a woodland ball. Beautiful wildflowers were blooming on either side of them, their rich colors a stark contrast to the drab grays of the city. He reached out a hand and brushed his fingers over the draping leaves of a nearby willow tree; the fronds were soft and tickly against his skin, making him giggle. It was all so magical, Patrick felt as if he’d been suddenly uprooted from his native dimension and transplanted into the storybook his mother used to read to him– a watercolor world of majestic unicorns and glittering ponds.

Patrick’s attention was stolen from the trees when a beautiful Monarch butterfly flitted from a nearby bush. He lifted his gaze to follow it, letting out another soft laugh when it darted in front of his face, its wing sweeping across the tip of his nose. He now understood how butterfly kisses got their name.

He watched the butterfly disappear back into the underbrush as the forest began to fall away around them.

“We’ve arrived,” the bear announced, startling Patrick back to reality.

What laid in front of them was far from reality. 

The dirt path underneath the bear’s paws had turned to shining silver cobblestone, coaxing them towards the towering hill on the horizon and the breathtaking castle that sat atop it. 

“This is… where you live?”

The bear nodded its head. “Indeed. It’s beautiful, I know, but it seems so cold and empty without anyone to share it with.”

Patrick went quiet, just taking in the glittering silver walls as they approached. The gate out front– gilded in gold and decorated with intricate swirls and spirals– opened the instant the bear stopped in front of it, as if it were automated. 

Or enchanted. 

The bear reached out a paw to knock on the castle door, and it swung open in much the same way. Inside, the grand foyer sparkled, gold and silver and jewels decorating every inch of the room as far as Patrick could see. In the center of the foyer, a bountiful banquet was laid atop a dining table draped in a shimmering silver tablecloth. Every food Patrick could imagine– and even some he couldn’t– had been plated on silver trays and artfully arranged on the table. Two gold-cushioned chairs sat at either end of the table, each with a place setting already in front of it.

Patrick opened his mouth to speak. He wanted to express his awe at the riches surrounding him, his admiration for the lavish decorations littering the room; instead, he said– rather eloquently– “Holy shit!”

The bear laughed. The sound was sweet like honey. “I take it you are impressed by what you’ve seen.”

“That’s an understatement!” Patrick slowly slid from the bear’s back and landed gracefully on his feet, clutching his backpack straps with both hands as his eyes roamed the room once again, hungry for each and every detail they could find.

With an amused smile on its face (muzzle?), the bear padded over to the dining table, Patrick following like a clingy puppy. He didn’t want to be left alone for fear of breaking something valuable, which was every damn thing in the room. 

The bear seemed to have no such fear. Once it had reached the dining table, it reared up on its hind legs and placed its front paws on it, ducking its head to pick something up with his teeth. It glanced back at Patrick over its shoulder and moved its head towards the table, beckoning him closer.

Patrick stepped forward, grimacing slightly when the bear spat whatever it was holding into his hand: a beautiful silver bell, now covered in bear drool.

The bear clearly sensed his confusion. “When you find yourself wanting anything, ring this and you will get it at once,” it explained before leading him to one of the dining chairs, pulling it from the table with its teeth. 

“Thank you.” Patrick sat the bell beside his plate and settled into the chair, letting out a soft squeak as the bear began to push him towards the table. 

“You are very welcome. As my guest, you deserve the best I can provide.” The bear took its seat across from Patrick, letting out a soft roar. Before their eyes, food began to fly from the platters and onto Patrick’s plate as if it had a mind of its own; once his was full, it moved on to fill the bear’s.

Despite the intense hunger gnawing at his gut, Patrick had every intention of waiting to eat until the bear’s plate was full. His mother used to tell him that was impolite to eat before everyone had been served, and she would always reward him with an extra pumpkin square when she didn’t have to remind him. 

It didn’t take long for the bear to notice. “Patrick, your manners are appreciated, but please, help yourself. I know it’s been years since you’ve been treated to a meal this fine.”

Patrick smiled sheepishly. “Yes, it has. Thank you.”

Those were the last words spoken over dinner that night. Patrick longed to know more about this mysterious creature– how it learned to talk, for instance, or what its name was. Unfortunately, his appetite far outweighed his curiosity. He was too busy gorging himself on turkey legs and gravy-drenched mashed potatoes, sweet pastries and delectable fruits, to spare a word or even a glance in the bear’s direction. It had been so long since he’d eaten anything that wasn’t on clearance at the supermarket that he stuffed himself far past full, only stopping when he was afraid that even one more grape would cause him to burst.

“Are you quite satisfied?” the bear asked. It regarded Patrick with a gentle and sympathetic gaze, as if he were a small dove with an injured wing that it intended on nursing back to health.

“Very satisfied.” Patrick stifled a belch. “That was delicious.”

“I’m so pleased. I wasn’t sure what sort of food was your favorite, so I tried to provide as many options as I could.”

A smile slowly crept across Patrick’s face. Strange as it was, this bear truly did care about his happiness. He wondered why he had ever suspected that it wanted to eat him– besides the fact that most bears were predatory carnivores, of course. In contrast, this one was civilized, kind, and intelligent. It lived in a luxurious castle and prepared feasts for its guests. 

Patrick had to be dreaming, but he didn’t want to wake up.

“Sleepy, are we?” The bear’s chuckle prompted Patrick to realize that he was resting his head in his hands, eyelids drooping like a lead weight had been tied to each of his lashes. “That’s quite understandable after the day you’ve had.” It rose from its seat and made its way over to the staircase on their left. “The bedroom is up these stairs. Ring the bell and it will take you.”

Patrick took the bell from the table, looking at it skeptically. “Is it gonna talk too?”

The bear laughed heartily. “No, no. Just trust me. Goodnight.”

“O...kay. Goodnight.” 

Between his exhaustion and the seemingly infinite staircase, Patrick found the climb to be comparable to a hike up Mount Everest. Two times he nearly gave up and set up camp on one of the steps, but he hardly thought the bear would be pleased to find its guest slumbering on the stairway when there was a perfectly comfortable guestroom mere yards away.

At the top of the steps, Patrick lifted the bell to give it a ring, but stopped when he saw that the first door to his left was wide open, revealing a beautifully pristine bedroom. It was just as beautiful and lush as the rest of the castle. The bed was perfectly made up with pure white sheets and gold satin pillows, the fringed curtains hanging from its canopy drawn back with gold ribbons. The rest of the furniture shone with similar hues under the light from the chandelier: the dresser, the nightstand, even the clothes hanging in the closet. He spotted a pair of gold silk pajamas that matched the pillows on the bed folded up on the dresser, but he didn’t even have enough energy to change into them; instead, he kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto the bed, the lights going out on their own the moment his body hit the mattress.

Patrick had never laid in such a comfortable bed, nor had he been able to keep his thoughts at bay long enough to drift off. The clean linen smell of the sheets and the perfect plushness of the mattress swaddled Patrick in a blanket of peace. 

That peace was disturbed when he felt something climb into bed beside him.

Patrick sat bolt upright, his heart thudding against his ribcage. He pulled the blankets close to his chest like a shield, leaning away from the strange figure. “Wh-who–”

“Hush, my Patrick.” He was startled to hear the bear’s voice come from beside him, from the mouth of a shadow that seemed very… human. “It’s only me.” A hand gently cupped his face, running its thumb over his lips. 

Patrick shied away from its touch, curling further in on himself. “You… you’re the bear?”

“Yes, I am the same bear you shared dinner with mere hours ago,” the shadow replied. “My name is Pete. That is all I can tell you.”

Patrick didn’t respond, instead rolling over to put his back to the shadow, the bear, Pete. This was a lot to take in, especially after everything else that had happened that day. 

Pete reached out to touch Patrick’s shoulder. “Patrick–”

Patrick shrugged Pete’s hand off. “No. I’m too tired to deal with this weirdness,” he grumbled. “I’ve had about enough of it for today, so I’m going to go to sleep, and you’re not going to touch me, okay? Otherwise I’ll kick you in the nuts.”

Pete sighed and rolled over, the two of them dozing off within minutes. In the morning, human Pete was gone, and bear Pete greeted him downstairs for breakfast.

Many nights passed this way. After dark, Pete would join Patrick in bed, and Patrick would refuse to even touch legs with him. He could handle a talking bear, a gold and silver castle, and magical flying food, but spooning with a strange man was where he drew the line, even if that man was the talking bear.

Thus far, those nights had been uneventful, with only a few twitches and kicks from Pete. Evidently, he was a restless sleeper, but that didn’t bother Patrick much. Sharing a house with his siblings had made him numb to all kinds of pokes, prods, and pulls; however, he was still incredibly sensitive to others’ pain. Kevin called it a weakness, but Patrick’s mother had always told him that it was his greatest gift. It was that same gift that led him to finally close the distance between Pete and himself. 

He woke one night while it was still dark out to hear Pete softly crying beside him. 

“Pete?”

No response.

Patrick turned over to face him, gently placing a hand on his shoulder and rolling him onto his back. “Pete!”

Pete stirred. His breathing was quick and his skin was sticky with sweat, but he still wouldn’t answer him. Patrick recognized the symptoms from his own adolescence: he was stuck in a nightmare.

“Pete, wake up. It’s okay.” Patrick gently swiped his thumbs under Pete’s eyes, wiping away his tears. “I’m here.”

“No,” Pete whimpered, flailing beside Patrick. The covers had fallen to the floor by now, but Patrick didn’t care; right now, his priority was Pete.

Patrick placed his hands on Pete’s chest, gasping when he found it bare… and quite muscular. He’d longed to see Pete’s human form since that first night, but Pete was very careful not to let that happen: he always joined Patrick in bed after the lights were out, and was gone before the light of dawn peered through the windows. It was a shame, really. Between his voice and the firmness of his pecs– the only two details he really had to go on– Patrick imagined that he was quite handsome. Maybe he had a sharp jawline, beautiful sandy blonde hair, and a huge–

He felt a blush creep onto his cheeks, both his mind and his cock getting distracted for a moment before Pete started thrashing wildly under Patrick’s hands. 

No. Now was not that time for that.

Swallowing down his arousal and blocking out his fantasies, Patrick thought back on what his mother used to do when he was overcome with nightmares. Her honey-sweet voice echoed in his ears, the lyrics of her old lullaby bringing with it memories of soft fleece blankets and kisses on the forehead. He started to sing the same words to Pete, hoping that the feelings of comfort and love would somehow bind to his voice.

It seemed to work, as Pete’s breathing slowed and his stirring ceased. 

Patrick smiled, sighing in relief and taking Pete’s hands in his. “Goodnight,” he hummed, pressing a chaste kiss to Pete’s cheek and snuggling up to his side.

This, too, became routine for them. The bedroom transformed from a place of fear and uncertainty to one of comfort and warmth, as any bedroom should be. Patrick no longer slept on the edge of the mattress in hopes of avoiding Pete’s touch; rather, they slept in a tangle of limbs, their shared body heat keeping them warm even through the occasional loss of sheets. Pete’s nightmares didn’t stop, but their severity decreased substantially and Patrick was always right there to sing them away.

Life was happy for the two of them. They enjoyed each other’s company day and night, barely spending a moment apart. They dined together, laughed together, passed the time together, and despite his previous reservations– as well as the fact that Pete was a bear-human hybrid– Patrick found himself falling head over heels for Pete.

Everything about him was perfect: his laugh, his personality, his– admittedly imagined– stunningly handsome human form. He made Patrick’s stomach flutter like it was full of mischievous pixies. With a little more faith and trust, Patrick would likely be airborne. It wasn’t far from the truth, because being with Pete made him feel like he was walking on air.

But something deep in the pit of his chest felt empty, and as days passed, not even Pete’s company could fill the mysterious hole.

“My Patrick, you’ve been so distant lately,” Pete rumbled. He placed his front paws on the table, mimicking the posture of someone resting their head on their hands. “You carry an air of sadness about you. What’s the matter? What dark cloud has dampened my ray of sunshine?”

Patrick looked up from where he was picking at his waffles, cutting them into small pieces so they looked eaten. He’d lost his appetite days ago, and had only been able to bring himself to eat a few bites every meal. The emptiness in his chest had expanded, sucking all the light and joy out of him like a black hole. He almost felt guilty about it. He was living in a luxurious mansion with a caring companion and all the food he could ever want; in other words, his life was perfect. Only one thing was missing.

“I want to see my family.” It was true that they were the ones who pressured him into leaving with Pete in the first place, before they were sure that Patrick wouldn’t be killed and eaten. They desired riches enough to sacrifice him to a bear. His dad seemed to be the only one sorry to see him go. But even so, they were family, and Patrick loved them despite all that.

Pete laughed, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. “Is that all?”

Patrick looked up at him, appalled at his reaction. He’d expected sympathy, not laughter! “Look, if you’re not going to take this seriously, I–”

“No, dearest, I understand,” Pete assured him. “I did not intend to belittle your pain. It’s just that… this problem is easily solved.”

“Really?”

“Yes. All you needed to do was ask.” Pete slowly lowered himself off of his chair and onto the floor. “I will take you to see your family, but you must promise me one thing.”

“Of course! Anything. Anything at all,” Patrick promised. He meant it too.

“You must not, under any circumstances, speak to your sister alone.”

That confused Patrick. “Why not?” What harm could possibly come to him from a private conversation with Megan, besides a bruised ego?

Pete sighed, lowering his gaze. “I cannot tell you,” he replied, “but you must promise me that at least. Speaking to her one-on-one will bring nothing but bad luck upon us both.”

Despite the questions swimming around in his brain like fish in a bowl, Patrick shut his mouth and nodded. He hadn’t planned on talking to any one of his family members on their own. He wasn’t sure how long Pete would allow him to visit, and the most efficient way to catch up on everything was to speak with everyone at once. That way he heard everyone’s take on each story that was told, and his family wouldn’t think he was playing favorites. 

He didn’t want to lose Pete’s trust either.

“I promise.”

That night, Pete told him to pack his things, and Patrick gathered his toiletries back up, along with a few of the plainer clothes from the closet. Over the time he’d spent in the castle, he’d found that the closet was filled with all types of clothes in shades of gold and silver: ball gowns and handsome suits to t-shirts and torn jeans, Patrick had his pick of every style ever made, all in his size. Of course, he never touched any of the fancier clothes. Casual things suited him just fine, so that was what he wore, and what he brought with him to visit his family.

Pete kindly gave Patrick a ride home on his back, just like he’d done when he’d first brought him to the castle. It was a bit stranger now than it was then, given that Patrick now knew that Pete had a human form; regardless, Patrick was thankful for the easy transportation, and another beautiful view of the forest they’d passed through on their first journey. No butterflies kissed his nose this trip, but Patrick still felt the same magic swirling through the air as they passed through. 

And as the two of them approached Patrick’s old home, Patrick suspected that some mischievous pixie had placed a glamour spell over the shabby house, because in its place stood an expansive white mansion, its structure reminiscent of a modernized Parthenon. It was constructed of beautiful white marble and gold accents, with huge glass windows and skylights. Patrick would’ve told Pete to turn around– that they’d clearly lost their way and wound up at some old rich guy’s address– had he not watched his brother, sister, and father come running from the front door as soon as they caught a glimpse of the large white bear in their front yard.

“Patrick!” they chorused. His father’s arms were open as he ran to embrace his son. Their faces were painted with the biggest smiles Patrick had ever seen; he was unsure if they spawned from his return or their newfound wealth. It seemed to him that they’d gotten everything they could ever want: a fancy house, stylish clothes, and even a shiny new car. The thought made his heart leap with joy. After all they’d been through, they all– himself included– deserved to live comfortably, and it looked as though the universe agreed.

Grinning so wide that his cheeks hurt, Patrick slid from Pete’s back and began to walk towards his family, only to have his pant leg snag on something. He turned back to Pete and saw that he had firmly fastened his teeth in the fabric of Patrick’s pants, looking up at him with his eyes blank and serious, not letting go until he was sure he had Patrick’s attention.

“What is it, Pete?”

“Remember your promise,” he rumbled. “I’m putting all my trust in you.”

“Of course.” Patrick knelt in front of Pete, giving his head a gentle kiss. If bears could blush, Patrick was sure Pete would be. “I won’t forget.”

Patrick rose to his feet and met his family halfway across the yard, where the three of them wrapped him in an almost suffocating group hug.

“Oh, Patrick, thank you, thank you, thank you!” his father gushed, smacking a wet kiss on each of Patrick’s cheeks. “Words don’t exist to describe how much our lives have improved thanks to you.”

“Yeah, Rick,” Kevin agreed, and Patrick was sure this was the first time his brother had ever agreed with a positive statement about him. “What you did was, uh… pretty noble.”

“No kidding! You’re, like, a hero.” Megan took his hand in hers and gave him a sincere smile. “I’ve been telling all my friends what you did for us. Sure, they don’t believe me, but I know it’s the truth.”

All Patrick could do was offer a sheepish grin in response. 

“What are you waiting for? Come in, come in.” His dad started to usher him inside, but Patrick resisted.

“Wait! I want you guys to meet Pete,” he said, finally interjecting a few words past the endless torrent of thanks and compliments. “He’s really who you should b–”

But when he glanced back over his shoulder, Pete was already gone, presumably back to the castle to spend a few days utterly alone. The thought made Patrick feel guilty: Who would join Pete for meals while he was gone? Who would sing his nightmares away?

“Pete?” his dad inquired.

“The bear.”

David nodded and placed a hand on the small of Patrick’s back, gently guiding him towards the gaping front door. “Don’t worry about him,” he soothed, as if he could sense Patrick’s worries through his skin. “He’s a grown… bear. He’ll be fine on his own for a day or two.”

Patrick nodded and took a shaky breath, reaching to wipe away the tears he hadn’t known he’d shed. “You’re right, I just–”

“That’s okay. We know you’re sensitive, Ricky,” Megan reassured him with a soft coo in her voice. If he hadn’t been so unstable already, he might’ve gotten onto her for it, but right now he was grateful for her unusual show of sympathy.

But he was sure not to forget his promise to Pete.

Thankfully, his family had similar thoughts on catching up as he did: it was better done as a group around the dinner table. The meal had already been laid out on fine china that must’ve been purchased after he had left, as the places were set with dishes much nicer than anything Patrick remembered owning. 

With a nod from his dad, Patrick settled himself at the head of the table, his dad across from him and his siblings on either side. He half-expected the food to fly onto his plate, but the dishes remained unfortunately still, forcing him to follow his family’s lead and serve himself.

He supposed he was faring better than they were on the magical side of things; after all, Patrick saw no self-dousing lights or wish-granting bells in the house. Those were fate’s gift to him for his sacrifice.

Patrick expected dinner to be peaceful, filled with joy and laughter as they exchanged stories and experiences from their sparkling new lives, but his family viewed it as a cleverly disguised interrogation. Patrick had no opportunity to ask them what all they’d done with their money– any vacations or trips, new furniture, or other things– because all they wanted to talk about was him. 

“Is Pete treating you well?”

“Are you enjoying the woods?”

“Is he demanding or does he let you do your own thing?”

Patrick gave short, carefully positive answers to each of their questions, avoiding anything too detailed. Not that he’d have been able to elaborate on any of his responses between their questions, comments, and accusations (those mostly came from Kevin). It was an endless current of conversation and Patrick was drowning in the rapids.

Even his promise to Pete was forgotten in the chaos; at least, until Megan confronted him after dinner.

“Hey, Ricky.” She feigned casualness and pretended that she had no idea that she was blocking the doorway to his new room, but Patrick suspected that she was fully aware of her inconvenient position. “Can I talk to you?”

Sirens and warning lights went off in Patrick’s brain. This was exactly the situation he was supposed to be avoiding. He scrambled for an excuse that would be enough to get her to leave him alone but not so extreme that she would worry about him.

Patrick pretended to yawn. “I’m so tired from my trip, Megan. This can wait until tomorrow, okay?” 

“But I care about my baby brother!” she cooed. That was bullshit, but Patrick decided not to call her out on it. “You barely talked at dinner.”

“I barely got a chance to with all of you yammering on and bombarding me with questions like I’m a suspect on trial.”

Megan scowled. “We want to make sure you’re okay where you are, Patrick, that’s all.”

Patrick had a few things to say to that in response– claims that they’d wanted money more than him– but kept his mouth shut.

“You should be grateful, you know. At least we care.”

“You don’t care!” Patrick snapped. He was desperate to end this conversation by any means necessary. “You just want to judge me!”

“Judge you?” Megan sounded unfairly incredulous, like she’d forgotten that her favorite pastime was making fun of her brothers. “Rick, why are you getting so defensive? Are you hiding something? Does that filthy bear abuse you? I knew it. I told Dad and Kevin it was a bad idea to–”

Patrick gritted his teeth together, his anger red and rising like the mercury in an old-fashioned thermometer. How dare she accuse Pete– the best thing that had ever happened to him– of something so toxic? Why couldn’t she just take his answers at face value and accept that Patrick enjoyed living with him?

If she was so quick to dismiss the truth about his positive experiences, well, maybe she just needed some more proof. A story so detailed that nobody could have made it up.

“Shut up!” he shouted, startling Megan into silence. “You want the truth, then I’ll give you the truth.”

The blood roaring in his ears drowned out the voice in Patrick’s brain that cried _‘Speaking to her one-on-one will bring nothing but bad luck upon us both.’_ His promise was forgotten as the words spilled from his lips, every minute detail laid out in front of Megan like the dishes at the royal feast he described, his mouth watering as he recalled the juicy turkey and succulent fruits he’d indulged in on his first night in the castle. He told her how they passed the days together, just talking and enjoying each other’s company. He told her how he’d sung Pete’s nightmares away at night. He told her how he thought he might be falling in love.

Megan wrinkled up her nose at that, looking beyond disgusted. “In love with a bear? Patrick, I know you said you were into bears, but–”

“Can everyone _please_ stop bringing that up?” Patrick huffed, folding his arms over his chest. Megan started to reply, but he cut her off. “Never mind. Not important. The point is, I’m not engaging in beastiality. Pete’s human. Or, at least he’s part human.”

“...excuse me?”

“He takes on his human form at night,” Patrick replied, the tension in his face melting away at the thought, his arms falling back to his side. “I’ve never seen him that way, but God, Megan, he just feels handsome.” Suddenly he was thirteen again, gushing to his big sister about all the cute boys at his school. Sure, Megan hadn’t been very interested, but she was the only one in the house who shared his attraction since his mother had passed, so he’d happily chattered on while Megan did her nails and made occasional noises of agreement. 

“Wait, you’ve never seen the guy?” Megan interrupted his dreamy rambling with all the grace of a baseball shattering the windowpane of mean old Mr. Jenkins’s house. “Patrick, you could be sleeping with the ugliest man on the planet! Or, like, an eighty year-old creep!”

Patrick didn’t want to admit the logic behind her accusations– it was true that he hadn’t seen the real Pete– but he wanted to believe that Pete’s kindness would bring with it a ruggedly handsome bod. That was how it worked in movies, anyway. “But his pecs–”

“Pecs, shmecs,” Megan scoffed, waving her perfectly manicured hand dismissively. “Anyone who works out can get nice pecs. Look, I can’t have my baby brother waltzing around, hanging off of some troll’s arm.” She grabbed Patrick by the wrist and dragged him up to her room, sitting him on her bed before going to dig through her dresser drawers. She quickly produced a miniature pink flashlight attached to a silver keyring. 

Patrick furrowed his brow. “What the fuck do you expect me to do with this?” he asked, holding it up by the ring.

“Next time he slips into your bed, shine this on him so you can finally see his face.”

Something about that didn’t sit right with Patrick– something other than his sister’s superficiality. If Pete didn’t want Patrick to see his face, there had to be a reason. He needed to respect his boundaries. But then again, it would be so nice to finally see Pete’s human face…

Patrick slipped the flashlight into his pocket. “Fine. Can I go to bed now?”

“Of course, Ricky!” Megan smacked a wet, lip gloss-coated kiss on his forehead, gently nudging him to stand. “Nighty night! And remember, your sister knows best.”

Patrick wasn’t sure he believed her. Still, he kept her little flashlight on the nightstand as he slept and slipped it into his pocket when he got dressed the next morning. He’d convinced himself he wouldn’t use it, but his curiosity insisted he bring it just in case. 

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

He’d barely gotten his teeth brushed when the sound came from downstairs.

“Patrick, Pete’s here for you!” his dad called, a tinge of sadness in his voice. 

Patrick scrambled to gather his things, stuffing them haphazardly into his backpack. He patted his pocket to make sure the flashlight was there, then instantly felt guilty for doing so. But not guilty enough to leave it behind. He slung the bag over his shoulder and thundered down the stairs, breaking into a grin when he saw the polar bear waiting outside.

Seeing the expression on his son’s face, Patrick’s dad held out an arm to keep Patrick from bolting outside. “We’re gonna miss you, kiddo,” he sighed, pulling Patrick into a hug. “Right, Megan? Kevin?”

Kevin grunted noncommittally.

“Of course we are!” Megan purred, moving to wrap Patrick in her own perfumed embrace. Her lips nearly brushed Patrick’s ear as she whispered, “Don’t forget what I told you.” 

Patrick nodded dumbly and pulled away, turning to the door. “Um… thanks, guys. See you soon,” he promised before stepping outside, pulling the door closed behind him. 

Pete didn’t have to tell Patrick to climb onto his back this time; by then, it had become routine. The gentle sway of Pete’s gait nearly lulled him to sleep, but just as he was about to drift off, Pete finally spoke up.

“My Patrick, have you gone against my wishes?” It was like Pete could sense the guilt weighing on Patrick’s chest. Damn him for being so well attuned.

He couldn’t bring himself to be dishonest. Even if he had lied, he was sure Pete would’ve easily been able to tell. “Yes, Pete. I’m sorry.”

Pete sighed heavily. “That’s alright,” he replied. He sounded thoroughly disappointed and it made Patrick feel even worse for betraying him. “Remember though, if you are to follow your sister’s advice, it will–”

“Bring nothing but bad luck upon us both,” Patrick interrupted, mimicking Pete’s voice right down to the inflection. “Yes, I know.”

“This is your final warning, Patrick. If you are truly content with our life together, you will forget every word your sister said to you last night, for both your sake and mine.”

But Patrick didn’t forget– _couldn’t_ forget. His curiosity and guilt were at war, tearing into each other like rabid dogs. He was desperate to finally see Pete’s face, but doing so would certainly cost him Pete’s trust. He was quiet throughout dinner and retired to bed early, only to toss and turn restlessly. He had just started to settle down when he felt Pete slide into bed beside him. No nightmares tonight, evidently, as Pete was asleep within minutes. Patrick could feel his breath even out, soft snores not enough to cancel out the pounding of Patrick’s own heart in his ears. He remembered the flashlight.

All it would take was one flick of a switch. 

Before he knew what he was doing, Patrick had snatched the flashlight from the nightstand and flicked it on. His body was running on autopilot. His desperation had taken the wheel.

The light danced gently over Pete’s features, and what Patrick saw took his breath away.

In bed next to him lay a strikingly handsome man with cheekbones and a jawline carved from sandstone. His skin was tan and flawless, a hint of dark stubble decorating his chin. His long, dark lashes rested peacefully against his cheeks, and his flawlessly straightened black bangs gently brushed his thick brows. His plush lips were parted ever so slightly as he slept, an air of peace about him. His chest was perfectly toned, just as muscular as Patrick could’ve possibly imagined. Beautiful, intricate tattoos decorated his arms, his collarbone, and– 

Patrick’s cheeks suddenly got hot as his gaze wandered. His tongue went dry, his throat scratchy like he’d just swallowed a handful of sand. His hands started to shake. His palms were clammy.

The flashlight slipped from his fingers. Everything was moving in slow motion. Patrick could only watch in horror as the hard plastic collided with Pete’s cheek.

Pete startled awake, sitting up with a gasp. The flashlight was still on. Pete’s eyes were amber.

“Patrick, what have you done?” 

“I-I’m so sorry, I-I only wanted to–”

“I warned you time and time again not to heed your sister’s words,” Pete lamented, hiding his face in his hands. “Had you been patient and waited for just one year, I would’ve been free.”

“Free?” Patrick asked, his voice soft. He took Pete’s wrists and gently tried to guide his hands away from his face, but Pete just jerked them back. “Free from what?”

“My wicked stepmother placed a curse on me, forcing me to take the form of a polar bear by day. Only at night was I allowed to resume my human form.” Pete paused to lock eyes with Patrick for the first time since he’d woken. “Now that you’ve seen my face, I have no choice but to leave you and return to her castle.”

“But why?” Patrick begged. “Why do you have to leave? I don’t mind if you’re a bear sometimes. I love you!”

Pete chuckled weakly, his lips barely twisting into a smile. “Oh, sweet Patrick.” He leaned in to press a gentle kiss to Patrick’s lips, and Patrick’s insides fluttered despite the dire situation. “You know me as Pete, but my full title is Prince Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz the Third and I was unwillingly engaged to a horrible princess of my stepmother’s choosing. When I refused to marry the brat, my stepmother placed the curse on me as punishment. She granted me a bit of mercy though, agreeing that she would free me of both the curse and the marriage if I could win the heart of someone without the use of my handsome face. That person would have to trust me enough to go a full year without seeing my human form. After that, the curse would be lifted and we would be free to marry.”

Had Patrick not been taken in by a talking bear with a huge castle and currently been talking to that same bear in human form, he would’ve laughed in Pete’s face, but now he knew better. Compared to the things he’d been through over the past few days, Pete’s story made perfect sense. “But now that I’ve seen your face–”

“I will be forced to marry the princess.”

“Well, uh… let me come with you!” Patrick suggested, desperate to keep Pete around. He was the first guy to ever return his feelings, _and_ he was a prince. He wasn’t about to give that up without a fight. “I can try reasoning with her.”

Pete laughed and shook his head. “No, dearest. That would only anger her more.”

“At least give me directions! I-I can find my own way!”

“A noble offer,” Pete replied fondly, running his thumb along Patrick’s cheekbone, “but impossible. My stepmother’s castle lays east of the sun and west of the moon. You’ll never find your way.”

Patrick puffed out his chest and steeled his features. “Try me.”

Pete laughed again, pulling Patrick close and carding his fingers through his hair. “My Patrick, I was so lucky to have found someone like you.” He peppered kisses across Patrick’s face and head until Patrick fell asleep in his arms, his hands linked behind Pete’s neck like that simple gesture would get him to stay.

It didn’t. In the morning, Patrick woke to find himself laying in an alleyway dumpster, his backpack clutched close to his chest. His gold silk pajamas had been replaced by the button-up, nice pants, and cabbie hat he’d worn the day Pete first whisked him away. He sat up and glanced around, hoping beyond hope to see Pete standing down the alley or leaning against the brick walls, but no such luck.

He was completely and utterly alone.

As much as he wanted to cry and mourn the loss of his not-quite-boyfriend, Patrick knew that tears would get him no closer to finding Pete. Instead of staying put and weeping like some sort of damsel in distress, Patrick clambered out of the dumpster, sliding on his backpack and puffing out his chest; if he had to play into an archetype in his own story, it would be the knight in shining armor.

Patrick took a deep breath and barrelled out of the alleyway, the soles of his dress shoes slapping loudly against the concrete of the city sidewalks. He wasn’t exactly sure what he hoped to see when he lifted his gaze, but an endless landscape of unfamiliar buildings certainly wasn’t it. He hadn't the slightest idea where he was, but now was far from the time to panic. If waking up alone in a dumpster wasn’t enough to shake him, then neither was this. He was going to find Pete, no map required.

But first, he needed a plan. 

He could blindly try to find his way around, he supposed, or try to ask someone for directions. He’d only been into the city a few times on his own, and even then it was usually somewhere he’d been before, like a convenience store or his favorite park. He didn’t speak to many people during his city trips either, so he had no clue how friendly and accomodating they would be, especially to someone like him, who stuck out like a sore thumb from the stylish and polished urbanites. 

In the desperation of the situation, Patrick promised himself that he would ask the next person he saw for directions, social anxiety be damned. Part of him was certain that telling someone he needed to find a castle that lay east of the sun and west of the moon would get him accused of drug possession, but he’d fallen in love with a prince that was also a talking bear, so anything was possible.

This included, apparently, Patrick being clumsier than usual and slamming violently into an old woman and her fruit stand the second he rounded the corner.

He toppled backwards, landing hard on his behind and sprawling across the concrete. Apples, pears, melons, oranges– all kinds of fruits came raining down around him as he sat up and rubbed his head. His unfortunate victim was in a similar position, and Patrick thanked every god in every pantheon he could think of that he hadn’t killed her; to be fair, she didn’t look like she had long left regardless, but being charged and arrested for fruit-cart manslaughter was the last thing he needed right now.

Patrick stumbled to his feet, brushing himself off. “Holy f– fudge!” he corrected himself. He’d been raised right, and wasn’t about to drop the f-bomb in front of a sweet old lady. He bounded over to her, extending a hand to help her up. “Are you alright, ma’am? I’m so sorry, I should’ve been watching where I was going.”

“That’s quite alright, dearie,” she replied, graciously accepting Patrick’s help and letting him pull her to her feet. She gave him a nearly toothless grin, her already squinty eyes crinkling up at the corners. “This isn’t the first time a sweet boy like you has run into my stand. Really, I’m starting to think that downtown isn’t the best place to peddle fruit. Everybody’s always in such a hurry…” 

Patrick stopped her when she bent to pick up an orange by her foot, instead kneeling to retrieve it himself. “I’m not,” he lied. He had no clue when Pete was to be wed, and he would’ve liked to arrive too soon rather than too late, but as he looked at this sweet old lady he had utterly fucked over, he knew his conscience would have his head if he just left her there. “Here, let me help you clean up this mess.”

“That’s very generous of you, dear boy,” she replied as Patrick began to gather the scattered fruit into his arms, sorting it into the wooden boxes on her still-intact stand. The sign hanging from the front of it– reading ‘Blanche’s Produce’– was crooked, but not irreparable. “How can I ever repay you?”

“Oh, you don’t have to–” The wheels started to spin in Patrick’s head. Blanche’s shawl was glittering gold and silver. “Actually… I’m a bit lost. Do you know this area well?”

“I’ve only lived here for seventy-three years. Of course I do, dearie.”

“Perfect.” Patrick stacked the last of the oranges into a neat little pyramid and stepped back to admire his work. “Would you happen to know the way to a castle east of the sun and west of the moon?”

The silence that accompanied his question made Patrick’s heart sink.

“...how do you know about that?” she demanded. Her expression of disbelief quickly turned into a knowing smile when she saw Patrick blush. “Ah, you’ve fallen in love with the prince, haven’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am, I have,”

Blanche smiled her gummy smile again and patted Patrick on the back. “How precious young love is,” she mused. “I’m sorry to say I do not know the way to the castle, but I know someone who might.”

Patrick instantly brightened up, his lips stretching into a grin. “Really?”

“Yes, dear boy.” Her laugh was frail and gentle and perfectly suited her. “Three blocks down that way–” she pointed a bony finger down the road to their right– “take a left on Lakeshore Drive. About a block down that road, you should come across a little hair salon on your left called Goldie’s Cuts and Curls. Ask for the owner. She’ll tell you where to go from there.”

“Three blocks, Lakeshore, got it.” Patrick made a mental note of each detail she rattled off. He couldn’t afford any slip-ups. “Thank you so much, and sorry again about your fruit.”

“It’s not a problem, dear,” she assured him with a wave of her hand. “In fact, take this for your trip.” She plucked an apple from her stand– a Golden Delicious, Patrick thought, until he saw the unnatural way it shone under the sunlight– and pressed it into his hand. “I think you’ll find it quite useful.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” He gave her a toothy grin and slipped the apple into his backpack. One more apology, and he was off: down three blocks to Lakeshore, and left to the hair salon.

Goldie’s Cuts and Curls was… cozier than Patrick expected. The paint on the sign was peeling, and one window was boarded up. The neon sign that read ‘Open’– or, more accurately, ‘Op n’– hanging by the door was flickering, but lit. 

Patrick pushed the door open, cringing at the strong hairspray smell that quickly flooded his senses. A tinny doorbell sound echoed through the tiny old building, startling him as he stumbled inside. His feet had barely touched the scuffed tile floor when a voice cried, “A customer!” and he was swept over to an old-fashioned salon chair that had its stuffing coming out. A hairdresser cape was fastened around his neck and for a split second, Patrick was afraid he was going to be strangled.

Those fears melted away when he looked into the mirror: behind him stood another elderly woman– presumably Goldie– wearing bright red lipstick and a familiar gold and silver shawl. 

“What can I do for ya today, doll?” she asked, snatching Patrick’s hat off his head and tossing it aside. Her voice was harsh and grating in every way Blanche’s had been quiet and gentle. “A nice shave? Maybe just a wash, or a blowout? You’ve got such lovely hair!” As she spoke, she ran her knobby fingers through Patrick’s locks, fluffing and tugging and overall just making Patrick uncomfortable.

“A-actually, ma’am, I’m here to ask for directions…” Patrick thought it was silly the way his voice shook, but she’d caught him wildly off guard with her determination to doll him up.

“Oh.” Goldie frowned and Patrick tried to ignore the way his chest ached. “Of course. Where to?”

“The castle east of the sun and west of the moon.”

“You’re in love with the prince, huh?” she purred, a smile returning to her features. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, unfortunately, I don’t know the way to his castle,” she sighed, pulling a golden comb from her hairdresser utility belt. She started to run it through Patrick’s hair. “But I do know someone who might.” She whisked the cape off of Patrick and he stumbled to his feet, looking up at himself in the mirror. 

His jaw dropped. His hair was free of tangles and neatly swept back behind his ears, not a straggler in sight. His sideburns were trimmed and his eyebrows plucked. His ill-fitting clothes had been replaced by a nicely tailored shirt, blazer, and slacks, and his shoes were polished.  
This was impossible. All she’d done was comb his hair! But one glance at the glittering comb in the woman’s hand made him realize it wasn’t just a normal comb, and the apple from the fruit stand wasn’t just a normal apple.

“I know the clothes are a little impractical, but I just _had_ to do somethin’ about your outfit,” she reasoned, carefully examining Patrick’s expression. “Ya can’t court a prince lookin’ anythin’ short of perfect.”

Patrick had to admit, it felt nice looking this good. He didn’t think he’d ever worn anything that had been professionally tailored to fit him. 

“I… thank you, ma’am.”

Goldie smiled. “Of course, doll! Now, when ya leave here, take a right, walk about a block, turn left on Seventh Avenue and walk until ya see a storefront with a sweater hangin’ above the door. Can’t miss it.”

Patrick nodded and shrugged on his backpack, starting towards the door. 

“Wait!” Goldie crowed, stopping Patrick in his tracks. “Take this with ya.” He heard her heels click across the tile, getting louder until she was standing right beside him. She pressed the golden comb into his hand with a smile, her teeth too white to be real. “It’ll come in handy. Now, go and get your man. I’m rootin’ for ya, sweetheart!”

Patrick gave her a nod, slipped the comb into his bag, and pushed open the front door, blushing bright pink when a man across the street stopped to stare at him. He gave the guy a shy wave before starting off on his way, trying to ignore it when he heard a whistle from behind him.

Unfortunately, his makeover attracted more attention than it deterred. At least five men and two women catcalled him as he passed, and it only made him more desperate to reach his next destination. He hadn’t thought he looked _that_ different, but clearly all it took was some nice clothes and a haircut to grab the attention of every hot single in the area.

He sighed in relief when he finally saw the colorful sweater hanging on the building in front of him. He ducked inside before anyone else could catch sight of him and decide he was one-night stand material.

The store behind the sweater was a cute little craft shop, overstuffed with felt and fabric. The mere sight of it made Patrick’s insides go warm and fuzzy like he’d just come out of the dryer, all the catcalling and discomfort of his journey forgotten.

“My, don’t you look dashing,” came a voice from deeper within the store. Another sweet old lady stepped out from behind a shelf. She had thick-lensed glasses and wore a gold and silver shawl– no surprise there. Her name tag read ‘Hello. My name is: Elle’. “Where are you off to dressed so nicely, young man?”

“The castle east of the sun and west of the moon. Do you happen to know the way?” This had to be his last stop, right? Things like this always happened in threes. 

But Ella shook her head. “No, sadly, I don’t,” she admitted, “but I have a friend who does.”

A sigh escaped from Patrick’s mouth before he could stop it. “You’re not going to send me down the road to another store, are you? Because I’ve already done that twice.”

She chuckled. “No, dear. My friend drives a cab. I’ll just give him a quick call to come and pick you up.”

“Thank you, ma’am, really. You have no idea what I’ve been through to get here.”

“Oh, I think I might.” Her eyes glittered with mischief. “You must really love the prince to have come all this way.”

“Yes. I do,” Patrick replied. He’d never been more sure of anything in his life. He would give everything to have Pete– his host, his best friend, the love of his life– back. Who knew what terrible things Pete’s stepmother was doing to him? If she could transform him into a bear, who knew what else she was capable of! She could break his limbs, set him on fire, force him to make love to the princess… the mere thought made Patrick want to cry.

The click of the phone’s handset returning to the hook startled him out of his downward spiral.

“He’s waiting for you outside, dear.” Elle nodded towards the bright yellow taxi now parked outside by the curb. “Before you go, though, I have a little something for you.”

“Is it gold?” Patrick chuckled. This was beginning to get predictable.

“I see you’ve caught on,” Elle replied, producing a small bundle of gold yarn from a basket next to the cash register. She placed it in his hands and Patrick gasped softly.

“It’s so soft!”

“The softest,” she replied, her lips quirking up into a gentle smile. “I think you’ll find it can come in handy.”

Patrick nodded and slid it into his backpack alongside his other two golden gifts. In the back of his mind, he wondered if this would turn out anything like the myth of Atalanta.

“Now go on.” Elle gently began shooing him out the door. “Borias doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Patrick stumbled out onto the sidewalk, looking back over his shoulder to thank her for everything, but she had already disappeared; instead, he reached to open the cab door, climbing into the back seat and closing it behind him.

He was instantly hit with a gust of Arctic-cold air from the cab’s AC, making him shiver. 

“Where to?” the driver grunted, his voice gruff and gravelly. His words were partially muffled by his thick white beard, and he had a hat pulled down low over his eyes. The card on the back of his seat said his name was Borias N. Zephyr, and there was no question that Patrick was intimidated by him.

“T-the castle east of the sun and west of the moon, please,” he replied meekly, picking at the skin on his fingers.

“Ain’t that where the prince lives?” Borias grunted, looking at Patrick in the rearview mirror. His eyes were covered by dark sunglasses, and Patrick hated that he couldn’t make out Borias’s expression, and yet Borias could read him like a book. Was he angry? Sad? Patrick couldn’t tell. “How’d you know about it? You love him or somethin’?”

“Y-yes sir, as a matter of fact, I do.” He’d been asked that question so many times today, the answer was more than clear.

Borias’s face softened. “Well ain’t that nice,” he mused, putting the cab into drive and pulling off into traffic. “It’s a noble thing you’re doin’ here, kid. Makin’ it this far is no easy feat, and it only gets harder from here on out. You sure you can handle it?”

“Anything for Pete.”

“Alright, ya little spitfire, just be warned. The trip to the castle is long, I’m talkin’ hours and hours with no rest stops and no chance to stretch your legs. The last time I drove it, I was so tired I didn’t drive again for weeks.”

“I understand, sir, but I meant it when I said anything.”

“You got it, kid. Get comfy, ‘cuz it’s gonna be a while.”

Patrick was determined to stay awake for the trip, in case any unforeseen disasters or surprises awaited them, but about two hours into the drive, his eyelids were starting to droop. He tried to stifle a yawn, but Borias was wise to his tricks.

“Sleep, kid. You’re gonna need all the energy you can get,” he advised. 

“But what if–”

“No buts,” Borias interjected. “I’ll wake ya if I need ya, okay?”

“I…okay,” Patrick relented. He shrugged off his backpack and laid it in the seat beside him, resting his head on it and shutting his eyes. Within minutes, he was out, but his dreams were far from sweet. 

No peace came to him in his sleep, only fear and restlessness. He dreamed of himself dying in a crash like his mother. He dreamed of Pete bound and gagged at the altar. He dreamed of Pete’s stepmother enchanting the princess to look like Patrick. It was torture for his brain to conjure up these images when he was so close to saving Pete, but if it thought this would get him to give up, then it was sorely mistaken. His heart was in charge now, and it wasn’t going to give up the wheel without a fight.

When he finally managed to fight off his own nightmares and the cloud of drowsiness that hung around his brain like fog, he sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, looking out the windshield at what lay in front of them: a colossal stone palace with spires that touched the clouds, the glowing golden gate out front decorated with a sun and a crescent moon.

“We’re here,” Borias announced, craning his neck over his shoulder to look at Patrick. “Are you afraid?”

“No.”

He thanked Borias over and over again as he tugged on his backpack and straightened his clothes. The second he’d closed the cab door behind him, Borias took off back down the road, presumably to find a motel to rest in.

Patrick was alone again, but even as he looked up at the towering castle in front of him, taking careful steps towards it, he couldn’t find it in himself to be afraid. 

He was more hungry than anything, and it became obvious once he’d settled down underneath a window on one of the castle’s shorter towers. His stomach growled and grumbled, like it was going to riot if Patrick’s didn’t fill it soon.

Then he remembered the apple in his bag. Blanche had told him it would come in handy, and eating it as a snack was a viable use, right? It was fruit, after all, and fruit was perfectly ingestible. 

He dug through his backpack until his fingers closed around the smooth, soft flesh of the apple. His mouth started to water. Hunger certainly could make a man desperate, Patrick knew that even before today. He pulled the fruit from his bag, wiping it off on his sleeve before unhinging his jaw to take a bite.

“Wait!”

Patrick shut his mouth in surprise, looking around to see where the voice had come from. 

“Up here, boy!”

He turned his gaze to the sky and saw a snobby-looking blonde girl poking her head out of the window a few feet above him. Maybe it was just his bad eyesight, but her nose looked crooked, almost like she’d had a botched nose job.

“How much do you want for that lovely apple?”

Patrick knit his brows in confusion. “I’m, uh... I’m sorry, miss, but this is my breakfast and it’s… not for sale.”

The girl let out a huff, scowling down at him. “I’ll give you whatever you want for it,” she offered. “Name your price. It doesn’t have to be money.”

It was odd how desperate she was to have his apple, but Patrick wasn’t about to turn down a deal like that. “Well, the one thing I want right now is to spend a night alone with the prince, but that’s impossible, so–”

“It’s not impossible, silly boy. I’m Princess Ashlee, and he’s my fiance!” she bragged. Patrick could see her puff out her chest with pride, even from a few feet below. “I can get you a night with him for sure. Just wait there.” 

Ashlee disappeared back inside the window, leaving Patrick to dwell on what the fuck had just happened. 

Getting to Pete seemed to be much easier than he’d previously thought. Ashlee barely wasted any time in getting him to Pete’s room, obviously eager to get her hands on the apple, for whatever reason. She ushered him into the castle through a back door, pushing past servants and guests until they stood together in front of the door to Pete’s chamber.

“He’s right in there, loverboy,” Ashlee teased, a suspicious smirk playing across her lips as she rested one hand on the doorknob, extending the other towards Patrick. “Now for the apple.”

Patrick shoved the fruit at her without another word, bursting through the door and slamming it shut behind him. He threw his backpack to the floor, crossing the room in three long strides and throwing himself onto the bed beside the lump under the covers that was Pete.

“Pete! Oh, Pete, I made it!” Patrick gasped, pulling Pete close and kissing his forehead over and over again. “You wouldn’t believe everything I’ve been through to get here! There were these old ladies, and–”

Pete’s eyes were still shut. Patrick would’ve thought he was dead if he hadn’t been able to feel his breath against his cheek. 

“Pete?” He shook Pete gently, gripping him by the shoulders.

Still no reply.

“Wake up, Pete. It’s me, it’s your Patrick.” His throat started to close up, his eyes flooding with tears. 

Of course it couldn’t have been that easy. He tried everything to get Pete to open his eyes: prodding him, kissing him, even dumping the rest of the half-empty glass of water on his nightstand over his head. Nothing worked. Eventually, he just gave up, holding Pete close and crying until the sun poked its head over the horizon. 

As soon as sunlight flooded through the curtains, Ashlee came barging in on the two of them, a holier-than-thou smile on her face. “Did you enjoy your night?”

“He… he wouldn’t wake up,” Patrick sniffled, wiping impatiently at his eyes.

“What a shame.” Her voice didn’t indicate even an ounce of sympathy. “It’s time to go now.” She grabbed Patrick by the arm and hoisted him out of the bed, wedging his backpack into his arms as she hustled him out of the bedroom, down the hall, and back outside under the window.

He had no doubt that Ashlee had tricked him– not even the heaviest sleeper in the world could’ve remained unconscious through all the racket Patrick had made the night before. She must’ve cast a sleeping spell on him, or had his stepmother do it. 

Or maybe Pete had been playing possum and really didn’t want to see him again; the thought made Patrick’s heart sink. But it made no sense. Pete never slept that deeply– his nightmares wouldn’t allow it. That meant something was off.

That meant Patrick couldn’t just give up now.

Glancing back up at the window, Patrick reached into his backpack and pulled out the magic comb Goldie had given him. Everything started to click into place: this was the purpose his golden gifts were intended for.

Like clockwork, the princess poked her head back out of the window. “Hey, you, apple boy! What do you want for that comb?”

“Another night with the prince.” He was surprised she’d even asked again.

That night passed much the same as the first, only with less crying on Patrick’s end and more determined shaking. When that didn’t work, he just talked to Pete as if he were awake, hoping that was like a coma in that Pete could still hear him.

Ashlee came to kick him out again in the morning, but Patrick– now wise to the ways of manipulating her– pulled out his final gift: the yarn.

Again, the princess desired it enough to offer him one last night with Pete. Patrick isn’t sure what’s up with her corvid-like obsession with all things shiny, but if it gave him one last chance to wake Pete and save him from his dreadful arranged marriage, he wasn’t going to think too hard about it.

His hope, however, was starting to dwindle. This was his last shot. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if he failed.

Little did he know that, the past two nights, a servant had been posted right outside Pete’s chamber. He’d heard Patrick crying and begging him to wake up; he’d heard the story of Patrick’s journey to see Pete again; he’d heard Patrick’s desperate confessions of love, not knowing when he’d have another chance to say them. 

Elsewhere in the castle, that servant was about to tell Pete what he’d heard.

As Pete went to retire to his chamber for the night, the servant moved his whole body to block Pete’s path. “Your Highness, just a moment. This is very important.”

Pete sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What is it, Joe? Please make it quick.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Joe took a deep breath and shook the jitters from his hands. “For the past two nights, I’ve heard a voice coming from your room. A boy’s voice, but not yours. He was crying, begging for you to wake up. He said he loves you, and that he’s been through so much to find you.”

Pete’s heart did a somersault. “Patrick!”

“You… know this boy, Your Highness?”

“Of course I do! He’s stolen my heart.” Pete pulled Joe into a tight hug, overwhelmed with joy. “How has he been getting past the guards?”

“The princess has brought him each night after she’s brought you your glass of water before bed,” Joe replied. “You’re always asleep by then, which is… strange, to say the least.”

Pete pulled back, scrunching up his brow as he thought: Ashlee, his water, and then nothing. She had to be putting something in the water! He was always exhausted at the end of the day– his mother insisting on endless wedding rehearsals– but not exhausted enough to guarantee himself a restful night of sleep. Patrick’s voice was the only thing that could do that; well, evidently, Patrick’s voice and drugs.

“Thank you for letting me know.” Pete gave Joe a firm pat on the back. “Now away with you.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Joe scurried off to do whatever it was he did. Pete hated the idea of people milling about the castle, cooking and cleaning like obedient little drones. He wished he could free them, but his stepmother would never allow it. She’d always said that servants were a sign of status, and she was _obsessed_ with status. That was why she was forcing him to marry a princess he didn’t love.

Pete let out a heavy sigh as he pushed open the door to his room. His butt had barely made contact with the edge of the mattress when Ashlee came barging in, glass of water in hand. 

“Hi, honey!” she cooed. Her tone was so sickly-sweet and her smile so fake, Pete had no idea how he hadn’t realized something was off long before now. “I brought you your water.” She held out the glass and Pete took it, pretending that he was still as doe-eyed and oblivious to her tricks as he had been last night. 

“Thank you.” He reached to set the glass on his nightstand, but that didn’t pacify Ashlee.

“Aren’t you going to drink it?” She tried to come off as nonchalant and casual, but the strain in her voice and her cocked eyebrow allowed Pete a peek through her mask.

“Oh. Right.” Pete picked the glass back up. “Of course.” He pretended to take a sip from the glass, dumping the liquid over his shoulder instead; usually, any observant person would’ve been wise to this trick, but the way his body was angled towards her made it all the more convincing. This time when he sat the glass on his nightstand, she was satisfied.

“Goodnight, my love.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead and moved towards the door, not shutting it behind her until Pete had settled in under the covers and shut his eyes, faking sleep.

But no matter how convincing his act was, sleep did not come for him. Not tonight. When Ashlee brought Patrick in later, Pete was wide awake behind his eyelids, and when Patrick shook him– half-heartedly, clearly not expecting a reaction– he opened his eyes.

“Pete!” Patrick gasped, his eyes shining with tears.

Pete shushed him gently. “Hush,” he whispered. “She’ll hear us.”

Patrick ducked his head, looking sheepish. “Right, right, sorry,” he stammered out. “It’s just… I was so afraid you wouldn’t wake up, just like the last two nights. I’ve been through so much to get here and save you, and–”

Pete silenced him with a gentle press of lips. “I know, sweetheart, I know.” He chuckled at the way Patrick was blushing. “But we aren’t off the hook yet.”

“What do you mean? I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yes, my darling, you are,” Pete purred, brushing a stray strand of hair out of Patrick’s face as he held him close, “but tomorrow is the wedding.”

“So soon?”

Pete nodded. “And unless something catastrophic happens before the sun rises, there will be no changing my stepmother’s mind. She is beyond convinced that Ashlee will perfectly suit all of my needs.”

Patrick wrinkled up his nose, fisting his hands in Pete’s sleepshirt and hauling him closer. “But you don’t love her!”

“True, but love doesn’t matter to her in this arrangement. Only status.” He paused, looking Patrick up and down. “But you have something that Ashlee doesn’t. Something special.”

“A dick?”

Pete laughed. “No, my dear. Your singing voice.”

Patrick blushed and lowered his gaze. His mother had always told him that he had a voice like an angel, but after she passed, he hadn’t had the motivation to sing like he used to; on the rare occasions he did feel like singing, Kevin or the boys at school would tease him for it. His music taste was unconventional to say the least, so singing whatever song was bouncing around his head didn’t always fall into their ‘acceptable’ hard rock standard. Singing Pete’s nightmares away was the first time in years he’d been able to use his voice without fear of criticism, but that didn’t erase all the teasing he’d endured. 

“It’s nothing special,” he insisted, avoiding Pete’s gaze.

“No, darling, it is.” Pete gently tilted Patrick’s chin up, forcing Patrick to look into his eyes. “Soothing my insomnia is no easy feat. In fact, I think you might be the only one in the world who is capable of it.” It was like a lightbulb had gone off in Pete’s head. “Wait, that’s it! You’re the only one who can sing me to sleep!”

Patrick startled a bit at his outburst, flinching away. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“I’ll tell my stepmother I’ll only marry the princess if she can sing sweetly enough to chase away my nightmares. If I go without sleep, I’ll have no energy to carry out my royal duties, and that would bring shame upon us,” Pete explained, his grin growing bigger with every word he spoke. “She’ll agree because anything that would bring us shame must be avoided, and the princess will fail because her voice is nothing compared to yours. Then I’ll bring you in and ask you to do the same.”

“That’s… so stupid it just might work,” Patrick replied, a smile tugging at his lips. 

“Indeed, but there’s still a chance it won’t. We should make the most of tonight, just to be safe.”

“Are you implying we should–” 

Patrick didn’t get to finish his sentence as Pete climbed on top of him, bringing their lips together in a passionate exchange. Fumbling hands cast clothes aside, bodies pressed together like yin and yang. They made love with the desperation of two men not sure if the world might end tomorrow, and they didn’t stop until the sun peered inside through the curtains, finding them breathless and tangled and utterly in love.

The boys scrambled to clothe themselves before Ashlee could come to kick Patrick out; they weren’t ashamed of having slept together, but feared the consequences from Pete’s stepmother if they were caught. They finished just in time, Patrick buttoning his fly just as Ashlee burst into the room. Pete quickly collapsed onto the pillows, closing his eyes like he’d been asleep since the night before.

“Time to get out, apple boy!” she exclaimed cheerily. “Say goodbye to the prince too, because today’s our wedding and you won’t see him again after that.”

She had no idea how wrong she was, but Patrick played along, grabbing his backpack and whispering a heartbroken goodbye to Pete. He’d always been quite a convincing actor, and Ashlee bought it.

“Poor thing,” she cooed, her voice dripping with false sweetness as she led him back outside. “Don’t worry, I’m sure there’s some other peasant boy out there who’ll be just perfect for you!” She slammed the door in his face, cackling wickedly.

Patrick could only hope Pete’s part of the plan would go off without a hitch.

Pete was about to find out, as his stepmother entered the bedroom with a team of servants at her heels. “Good morning, Peter,” she purred, sounding about as friendly as a sabertooth tiger. Her smile was tight-lipped and insincere; clearly she was looking forward to marrying him off, but not actually interacting with him to get the process started. “Why haven’t you changed into the proper undergarments?”

“Oh, stepmother, I was sleeping so soundly that I simply forgot,” Pete replied, forcing himself to look apologetic, bringing out the puppy eyes he knew nobody could resist. “Please forgive me.”

“I suppose I can let it slide this once.” The queen scowled, gesturing for the servants to begin preparing Pete for the wedding. 

“Wait a moment. Stepmother?” Many pairs of hands began tugging at Pete’s clothes, stripping him naked before slipping a pair of bloomers over his legs. “Stepmother.” Between the layers of fabric being tugged over his head and tied and adjusted, Pete’s voice was lost in the din. 

“Stepmother!”

The queen held up her hand and the servants froze, the girl closest to her squeezing her eyes shut as if she were preparing for a slap to the face. Just how often were these servants mistreated by her? That was a worry for another time. “What is it, boy?”

“Before the wedding, I-I should like to see what my bride is fit for.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ashlee is a perfectly fine young woman. There’s no need.”

“But can she help me to sleep soundly at night?” The queen was silent, so Pete continued. “You know of my horrible nightmares, surely. They’ve been ravaging my mind ever since Father passed. My spouse must have a voice sweet enough to sing the demons away, otherwise I will never have the energy to carry out my duties. That would be shameful, don’t you agree?”

“Yes. Very well.” Pete had played her right into a corner: shame was not to tolerated. She commanded the servants to finish dressing Pete as she sent for the princess to report to Pete’s chambers at once.

Ashlee came bouncing into the bedroom within minutes, dressed in only her bloomers, chemise, and corset. Clearly she’d been in the middle of getting ready, but when the queen summons someone, they’d best come at once– the whole castle knew that.

“What is it, Your Highness?” the princess chirped. She forced her eyes not to wander over to Pete, who was still only half-dressed as well.

“Your prince wishes to hear you sing, my dear. He wants to ensure you will be enough to remedy his restless sleep.”

Ashlee smirked and puffed out her chest slightly, linking her hands together behind her back. “Of course I will be enough!” she replied haughtily. Then she began to sing.

Pete was sure every dog within a ten mile radius was howling. Her voice was like shattered glass, scraping and scratching and cutting his eardrums until he felt they would burst. He raced to clamp his hands over his ears to protect their fragile insides, but not even they could shut out the horrid sound that escaped the princess’s throat. The servants had stopped dressing him to protect their own ears; even the queen couldn’t help but wince.

When the princess finished her song, the sigh of relief was audible throughout the chamber. 

“How was that?” Ashlee chirped. She looked proud, and Pete wondered how dense she could possibly be to think she’d sounded anything more than horrific.

The queen managed an expression that was more wince than smile. “Wonderful, darling. Does that suit your needs, Peter?”

Pete guessed she expected him to agree wholeheartedly out of fear; if that was the case, she was in for a nasty shock. “That was the worst sound I have ever heard the misfortune of hearing,” he replied with a huff. “Any old beggar off the street could do better than that! I’ll prove it to you.”

Pete shoved past the princess and his stepmother, ignoring their shock at his brutal honesty. He thundered down to the tower’s back door, where Patrick was waiting outside. Pete couldn’t help but think that he was still just as handsome dressed in the shabby servant clothes Pete had snuck into his backpack the night before. Not even the mud smeared across his rosy cheeks and shapely hands– a nice touch, Pete had to admit– could tarnish his angelic looks.

“You there, boy!” Pete snapped, struggling to stay in character; he didn’t like speaking to Patrick in such a harsh tone, but he couldn’t let his stepmother find them out. 

“Yes, Your Highness?” Patrick replied, stumbling into a bow. Pete’s heart almost melted when Patrick looked up at him with wide blue eyes, perfectly imitating the innocence of peasant boys in movies. For a split second, Pete was worried Ashlee might recognize him from their exchanges over the past few days, but the mud seemed to obscure enough of his face to keep her in the dark. Clever Patrick. “How may I serve you?”

“Sing for me.”

Patrick asked no questions before launching into the same lullaby he’d sung to Pete each night in his castle, before he’d been stupid enough to betray Pete’s trust; the same lullaby his mother used to sing to him from the time he was just one minute old. His voice was smooth and sweet like honey, flooding Pete’s senses with bliss. Even the queen’s eyelids had started to droop by the time he’d finished.

Pete gently took Patrick’s hands in his, their eyes meeting in a spark of blue and bronze. “Yes, my dear, you are the boy for me.” He drew Patrick close and kissed him, the brush of their lips pillow-soft. 

“No!” the queen roared, startling the boys apart. “I won’t have my stepson marry such a homely peasant boy! Peter, think of the scorn other kingdoms will rain down upon us!”

“I care not what they think,” Pete replied with a defiant glimmer in his eye. “I care only for this boy with the sugar-sweet singing voice.”

The queen was enraged; despite her disapproval of the arrangement, she’d agreed that Pete needed a spouse that could ensure he had a good night’s rest. He’d found it in this peasant boy, and she was not one to go against her word. Imagine the shame if she were to break a promise! Stuck with two equally unappealing paths in front of her, the queen decided to trample down the weeds between the two and make her own road by fleeing the kingdom altogether, severing her ties with Pete and his new husband. 

As for Ashlee, with her engagement annulled, she simply returned to her own kingdom to find a prince who would truly love her– cacophonous singing voice and all.

This left Prince Pete and Prince Patrick alone together to do whatever they wished with the castle that lay east of the sun and west of the moon. Pete, ever the noble ruler, set all of the servants free from the castle, allowing them to return to their families and pursue their own dreams, just as he was now free to do. 

The two of them then began to load Patrick’s backpack with all of the silver and gold it could hold, intending to flee the castle and make a new life themselves, away from the buzz of the kingdom and the city nearby.

And as Patrick looked at Pete, slinging his backpack over his shoulder as they prepared for their journey, he couldn’t help but think that… maybe life _was_ a fairy tale. 

And maybe he was okay with that.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you've got the time, feedback is much appreciated, and you can follow me at [data-dork](https://data-dork.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. :)


End file.
